The Love Child

I think perhaps I pitied her more than I did my father. If he were sentenced, his death would come quickly. She would be haunted by the tragedy for the rest of her days. She was almost demented with grief. We would save him, I promised her. We must. It was not impossible and she must not allow herself to think so. We were going to get there in time. We were going to give everything we had if necessary to save my father’s life.

It was so irksome for her when we stayed in the inns on the way. She would have liked to drive through the night.

As we came nearer to our destination, so did the horror increase. The judge, whose name was on every lip, and was spoken of with disgust and repugnance, had ordered that it should be brought home to the people what happened to traitors. Often we passed limbs hanging on trees and corpses of hanged men. The smell of death permeated the air.

“What shall we do?” demanded my mother. “What can we do when we get there?”

At an inn one night they were talking about the case of Lady Lisle whose crime had been to give food to two of Monmouth’s followers who had escaped from the battlefield.

Jeffreys’ manner towards the poor woman had been so cruel even for him that the case was being discussed everywhere.

He had a way, this judge, of bullying his juries into giving the verdict he wanted.

If they seemed inclined to be lenient he would fix them with a glare from the most wicked eyes in the world so that they shivered in their seats and wondered what case would be brought against them if they did not do the judge’s bidding.

This poor lady was called a traitor; she should suffer the death of traitors. He sentenced her to be burned to death.

This was too much to be accepted. Moreover, it was being said that the harshness shown to Lady Lisle came at the instigation of a higher source, for she was the widow of John Lisle, who had been one of the judges at the trial of Charles the First.

This seemed like the King’s revenge on the murderers of his father, and friends of Lady Lisle were pointing out that the lady herself was guilty only of two things-giving food to men who happened to be flying from Sedgemoor and being the wife of a man who, with others, had condemned Charles the First.

James should consider. What would his brother Charles have done? He would never have allowed a woman to be treated so.

James was not inclined to enjoy being compared with his brother, but he did have enough sense to see that to submit a frail woman to one of the most barbaric deaths conceivable for no real crime would not redound to his credit. At the same time he wanted everyone to know that they would be ill advised to take up arms against

Lady Lisle was saved from the stake to lose her head on the block.

My mother had scarcely eaten since we left home. She was very pale and had lost weight.

I was fearful for her health.

There was more news. Monmouth had escaped to the New Forest even before the battle was over. He had hidden there for a few days but had been captured and taken to London.

There he had implored the King to save his life. “For my father’s sake,” he begged.

“You are my uncle. Remember that.”

But James only remembered that Monmouth had tried to take the crown from him. There was no point in delay, he said.

We had reached the town of Dorchester when news was brought to us of Monmouth’s death.

He had deserted his army; he had cringed before the King; but once he knew that death was inevitable, he had met it bravely, affirming on the scaffold his adherence to the Church of England. It must have been a gruesome scene because the executioner struck five times before he completely severed the head and brought about the end of the Duke of Monmouth, reckless, ambitious and lacking in principle.

At least he died a brave man.

This was small comfort to my mother.

We came to lodge in an inn in the ancient market town-a busy one, for through it passed the road to Devon and Cornwall. The earthworks, known as Maiden Castle, relic of four thousand years before when the land must have been little more than a forest, brought many people to look at it. But we had no thought of such matters.

My mother, frantic with anxiety, frustrated because she had no idea how to set about the task of freeing my father, was in a desperate state, and the very night we arrived at the inn was smitten with a fever and was delirious. I was really frightened and the next morning sent for a doctor. He came and said she must rest and nothing must be done to disturb her. He gave her a potion to make her sleep.

“You are here because you have a relative prisoner?” he asked.

I nodded.

The doctor shook his head sadly. “Let her sleep as long as you can. It is acute anxiety which has brought this on. I have seen much of this since our town was turned into a court and a shambles.”